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The day, the nightThe day, the night, the standing light in the standing time between the day and the rhyme. No one suspects the ever living, ticking betraying stance of themselves. No one counters their own rebellions as the wage on in the soul and the sound of the hallowed ground. there aren't as many police as they think. the safety they imagine is just that because no one can save us from ourselves. Where the cattle and goats feed of the land, we consume our souls. We forsake what we hold dear because nothing else quite feels like it is worth the time to defile. there is an epidemic in my mind that reeks the whole mind and seeks to destroy the images of a boy and taint the stance of a man.
The girls with their pearls all rolling in the light shimmer in the glimmer of destruction’s light. Those that detect and collect respect that there are no boundaries for where the dollar has power.
Lies stack up and we experience truth through fictions. The only truth is true with the imagination. Relevant
Over IndulgentThere was a time for us. I haven't written about you in a while. There was a time when I wrote about you every day. I missed you. Now, I just want someone to hug. You don't hug me. You haven't hugged me in a long time.
There was a time when you hated people. You hated them for me and for my honor. You said that they disrespected me and you didn't like them for it. I was proud and happy and content with you and you alone. I was happy to have someone so devoted to me. Someone to ring my cause before I knew I had one.
I still have people that ring my cause. People that stand up for me and hate on my behalf. It is different now because they hate you. They hate you for what you did to me. For what you said. For the year of grieving that you did not deserve. They hate you and you will never be welcomed back to my cause. I vetoed your exile. I tried to leave the door open for your return. They came back with a super majority. The override came swiftly. You don't want back and they don't want
Just because it is a cycle, doesn't mean it is allThe idea of quitting is nothing new. You let the words bounce around your head and then you let them spew. In private, alone. In the alley behind your home. you drain your throat of everything in your head and hope it leave you alone. but it breaks down into the soil and gets swept back up into the drains. and washing out into the oceans where liquid has few names. Until it is hoisted up into the sky and fluffs out into clouds that methodically pass you by. The ideas went back inside you and come down as rain but you stay indoors dry and insane.
The HikerThe snow fell in sweet silence on the serien meadow. The thin trees stood inches apart from each other filling the expanse. There is blood pooling in my sock. I don't know what to do with it. The others knew first aid. They were headed nowhere, though. This is the right direction. I know it. These surroundings are completely new. I am bound to hit land soon. I can take care of my foot then.
Oh. Apparently my shoe has soaked through. There are red footprints leading up to me. Life is funny sometimes. It is kind of hard to breath. I think I will sit down, take some nice deep breaths.
that is funny. My tan seems to be gone. I guess this will just let me get tanner. The guys at the office will be impressed. The office seems like a completely different reality from this place. Everything is calm. Nothing cares for what time it is. Things happen and succeed without demanding everyone's attention. Why do I feel like everything is looking at me?
I kind of get the appeal of nature, t
Our Dead SelvesTo all of our dead selves. they lie there. damaged, dismembered, dead. Every lifeless husk in various stages of rot and or preservation. The glassed over charred one, still hanging off the chimney. I don't even remember which of the husks was me. They don't stab. It is oddly suspicious but I stopped asking questions long ago. We ran out of bullets after a few months. The early corpses are further away. Back then we were disturbed by the contradiction of our dead selves being burried by our living bodies. We use to go so far out that we lost a few bodies. Hell, we lost a lot of bodies.
We use to bury ourselves, too. Use to call ourselves "them" and "it." We use to fight about what exactly the corpses should be called. We agreed to disagree a few times but that didn't last. We would try to trek out to our graveyard in silence but we would get to talking and directing and then the shovels would be dropped as we both pulled swords. The swords lasted longer than the ammunition but those sho
Sitting Quietly in Pale WhiteSitting quietly in a pale white breakroom. You can tell a break room because it looks desperately and thoroughly used for fifteen minute increments several times a day and lacks any real distinction of style outside of borrowed furniture, lockers of questionable safety, and vending machines. It makes an obscene amount of sense that one soda company would be contracted to sell in the store but another would own the machine in the breakroom. The steadiest most desperate patrons would be employees. The illusion of choice in lieu of laziness. It is always easier and cheaper to bring refreshments but that is if planning was easy.
He sits there in the breakroom holding a red leather journal. Fountain pen floating centimeters over the page with the constant threat of leaving ink in strategic places that convey meaning to discerning onlookers. He stares at the pop machine and thinks about the illusion of choice and the its threat to free will. The clock is broken and the second hand twitches u
Heart Pounding my Brain
Today is the day. I cannot think about it, too long. Otherwise, I get sick to my stomach. I am going to ask out the obscenely cute girl, from work. Ambiguously single with at several male friends but she is proprietary single, none the less. I'm still unsure, though.
I have come up with a plan. I will get her attention.I won't bring up any other bullshit to talk about, straight to the point. I will ask if she is seeing anyone and I will request that we go out sometime. When do I take her out?
She has told me she is busy. Quite the busy girl, all the time. I am available late or early, whenever. I don't know when we both will be available. I could take her out at work. No, that would be unpleasant, embarrassing, and not at all romantic. Should I really be planing dates right now? That would look weird, right? If I go from being unaware of her relationship status to throwing times and places at her. I can only see that ending in dodge ball, I want to avoid that metaphor.
So, setting up a
The Beautiful ClownsThere is another one. Tall blond, shutter-shade sunglasses, pink novelty tee, and jeans that show me too much ass. We are trying to march down this boulevard to make a scene. Me and my gang, we aren't funny and are not here to chase tail, even if we did find it mildly attractive. Pocka-dots and an ironic sense of humor. When the clowns roll walk into where you live, you will find that you were on our turf all along.
This was a long time coming. We should have just taken what was ours. We had a girl selling on a street corner. Snow, not ass, we don't sell ass. We give stupid people stuff that keeps them stupid and there is no woman who deserves to be some banker's sweet escape. I find that women fight just as well as men, if they are treated like they can. Mother's fight better, pain tolerance and a constant angry stare.
Take Bridge, she was fourteen when we found her. Skinny as wire on a fence and high on crack. I don't give wasts of girls like that a second look but not Bridge. Even o
Perfect waste: part onePerfect waste
I want you to know that you are beautiful. When you sleep the world rests under your neck and its weight turns to down and the soft moonlight gently lights your face as not to disturb your soft radiance. When you are happy my soul spins inside my magmatic chest and lurches me forward that I may cherish every moment. When you are focused nothing else in the room can stand staying on task. When you hide your face time itself stops as a flowing river would halt and form a lake. When you walk the ground convulses to meet your foot and tenuously holds up your mortal frame.
Perfection is a stale, dull, and repetitive concept . Your beauty rises from chaos and your joy lies in the toil of living. Perfection contrasts this world and tells you that the world isn't good enough. Perfection is impertinent and wishes that everything is close, over stepping its welcome. Perfection is clean and makes the world look dirty. Perfection is simple and thinks the world is ine
Icicle EyesDecember girl:
the snowflakes glittering
in your wind-blown hair
to the icicles
in your eyes.
6:30 ante meridiemI open my mouth to suck in a breath
The morning’s frost kisses my teeth
And I shiver.
IciclesWarm, soft air,
Breath as a ghost on the breeze
condensing into a fine mist,
Dancing bitter pirouettes
and whispering silken omens,
as petals in the snow.
Cold, hard earth,
Crunching miniature cities
with a single, gentle footfall,
Loping, silent, singing
liquid silver racing,
Urgent, fateful missions
as glacial rivers flow.
Delicate, crystal bells,
Delightful, intricate daggers
deceiving battered flesh,
Garnished, bruised, marked
fantastic rainbow shades,
Radiating fractures leak
as veins of shattered pearl.
Harsh, rasping nails,
Driving blizzards shrieking
blue, murderous claws,
Acute fangs clenching
against blasphemous vows,
Fall to the depths
of ostracised perdition.
CuriosityMy name is Curiosity.
And I didn't kill your cat.
Stupidity led the angel towards me, where he had set a trap.
So much crimson had stained my hands because of their work.
By "they" I mean Stupidity and Nerve of course
They take the lives of the innocent.
But the burden always falls upon me.
"Curiosity killed the cat" they say.
But how could I, don't you see?
My only weapon is wonder.
But they all still look upon me with hatred, dread, and misery.
As if I had centuries of blood on my hands.
When I never could
Take Me to the EarthTake me to the earth,
Where ancient gnomes
And sweet russet nuts
In sturdy stone hearths
Whilst they swap tales
Of olden forest mothers
Giving birth to bears
And hares in the places
Where the tree spirits
Ensnare colorful flowers
And use their powers
To call down the rain
To empower the soil
Making it rich and loamy
To nourish deep roots
And blades of grass
That surround magical
Waters that display
Reflections like glass
Allow me to gather
The squirrels and
The bees and the
Birds that dwell
Within the trees
To drink from these
Crystal clear and opaque
Pools whilst humor-filled
Fairies dance like fools
Until my stomach
Swells with a healthy girth
Oh ye elder gods,
Take me to the earth...
winterIt is 21 degrees Fahrenheit outside
and the air shudders in its icy grip:
pine needles frosted in fairy dust
and breath lost in the elegance of silver spiderwebs.
Ice, white and black, coats sidewalks,
sliding dogs' paws out from under their owners
and disappointing children in its solidity;
ponds drip like spoiled milk onto the pelts
of voles burrowed in their homes for the winter.
Harrowed birds flutter and squabble
over the remainder of seeds lost
under a bench by the rats' nest.
They wheel and peck above summer-flung stones
hurled on a day when a different kind of pond froze.
Hiding The PainOnce held safely by her lies
Then torn apart by the truth;
One who was so angelic
Now a demon in front of you.
It all seems so new and horrid
A fresh scar in your mind;
But you're here in his embrace
Safe from that who harms.
Hatred does not fill your heart
It is filled with sorrow and grief.
All the pain is eased though
By the love you both share.
Though the memory will never leave
Always there before your eyes.
A veil hides your nightmare,
So you may enjoy the moment at hand.
Snow FallThe perfect snow drifts perilously to the earth. It twirls in the wind. Twisting in the air as the heat pushes past. the wind is always pouring from among high in an effort to find balance. The only result is turbulence. Breath of desperate pleas beat flakes and trees alike as the fall continues. Landing is most dreadful. There is no control for the frozen patterns. No means of reason to attempt to succeed. Cars blaring horns blaze on the ground. It gets close and the wind meets it and bends to the curvature of the hood. Flakes are tossed on a wave of movement. Unseeing and caring. Some lose their majestic form as they lie in puddles. They land softly, always softly. A perk of design and kindness. It hovers for a moment. The tension passes as the blanket of comfort fades away. Laying in water, dirt is pulled up over the crystals. It is warm now. Strange. It dissipates as a teardrop and mixes with that which fell before. Next time, a field perhaps.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More